


People You're Stuck With

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-27
Updated: 2006-03-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Enterprise has returned to Earth after the Xindi affair, and they have a few guests. (08/29/2005)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 3.09 "North Star," 3.24 "Zero Hour."  
  
Beta: Sailor Coruscant, G. Eliot, Kat31  
  
This story is not intended to be about anorexia, itâ€™s about relationships. Everything I know about anorexia I read in a book called â€œBronteâ€™s Storyâ€ by Bronte Cullis and Steve Bibb. Bronte heard a voice in her head, which started before she stopped eating. This voice would tell her that something bad would happen to her family if she didnâ€™t do certain things and how disgusting and horrible she was. It eventually led to the voice telling her that if she ate or that if she didnâ€™t get down to a certain weight something bad would happen. Iâ€™m borrowing that idea for this story. She stayed at a clinic in Canada for almost five years, and is the most prominent anorexia sufferer in the Australian media. Her parents run a foundation in Australia to help other anorexia sufferers. Most sufferers that Iâ€™ve seen interviewed seem to hear this voice.  


* * *

### 1 year previously

_Dear Mother and Father_

"What a bloody brilliant beginning," Malcolm said self-deprecatingly. "What am I meant to write in this. 'Hello, it's your son here. You know, the one that can't swim and never joined the navy. Remember him? Well, he's going on a suicide mission to help save Earth. So don't worry, Father, you'll never have to be ashamed of me again. People might even call your disappointing son a hero.'"

He sat stiffly in his chair in the armoury for a few moments, before deleting the last two words.

_Dear Mother,_

_I will be out of contact for some time. Please accept my apologies for this and explain to Father for me. Hope that you are well._

_From,_

_Your Son._

Many years previously.

_Malcolm Reed,_

_What do you think you are doing? You were meant to apply to the Navy two days ago. Your sister said that you were talking about that space program again. Reeds are Navy men, nothing else. You have already disgraced me enough. Do not even think about coming home unless you can tell me that you have joined up!_

### The Present

The bridge crew sat in stunned silence. Captain Jonathon Archer watched their facial expressions, or lack there of, with some amusement.

'You would think that I've run over their cat, dog, rabbit, mouse, goldfish...' he thought.

The next few moments were spent thinking of increasingly outrageous pets that were starting to do more damage to the vehicle in his mind than the vehicle was to them. When he reached a kangaroo, an animal that he'd heard did a huge amount of damage to a vehicle, he stopped the mental list and looked again at their faces, categorising their expressions. Hoshiâ€”slight horror, probably not quite over how she'd been used by the Xindi, Travisâ€”some sadness, but dawning enthusiasm, Malcolmâ€”like somebody suggested he go for a swim, no, make that ordered, T'Polâ€”well, like T'Pol, and finally Trip, whose face had very quickly disappeared back under the console he was repairing. However, Jonathon had caught a very quick glimpse of what he thought was raw panic. Understandable, he'll have to face the loss of Lizzie all over again.

Hoshi finally stated, "Our parents are coming here."

The thoughts of the six officers were almost audible, but impossible for anybody else to decipher.

'What if they find out?'

'I'll have to do this sometime.'

'I wish my dad was here,' shared by two minds.

'They will not come,' a similar thought echoed by the last two minds.


	2. Chapter 2

### 1 year previously

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't see you when we got back to Earth. There were so many things that we had to do to get Enterprise ready to leave. I know that you've seen James, I hope he was able to be there for you when I couldn't. You know what you mean to me, and I just hope to God that I'll be able to tell you in person again._

Trip paused, then deleted the last sentence. He rubbed his hand over his face and muttered, "How the hell do you write a letter like this? But, what Captain Archer wants, he gets." The last was said with some resignation.

As Enterprise's mission was largely considered as very unlikely to succeed, it had been strongly suggested that each member of the crew write a letter to his or her family.

Trip sighed, and finished the letter.

_All my love,_

_Trip._

### 3 years previously

_Dear Trip,_

_It was so good to get your letter. James sent us a copy of the question session you did for Steve's class. We had to laugh. The expression on your face was like you'd been using the recycling system a little too much yourself. You were right, though. It was his question, although we actually think it might have been James' idea._

_We saw Lizzie a couple of days ago. She's a bit blue at the moment. I think she's missing you, but she wouldn't say anything, just put on a brave face. I think she thought we were a bit blue actually and was trying to cheer us up. But that just reminded us of you, Trip. I hope you're enjoying yourself out there, and not getting yourself into as many sticky situations as you used to. You were such a magnet for trouble when you were little._

_Get your Chef to make you some pecan pie, and think of us,_

_Love,_

_Us._

### Present

"You know, this doesn't seem fair somehow."

"Hmm?"

"I said, this doesn't seem fair," Hoshi repeated to Travis. They were sitting in the mess hall eating lunch. Both had been unusually silent, and Travis had sat staring off into space for most of the meal.

"What?" Travis asked.

'Oh, come on, you can speak in more than one syllable,' Hoshi thought, before replying.

"Our parents being the first ones to come on board. Everybody else has to wait until we've left. It just doesn't seem fair."

"We're the first people who have to go through debriefing, that's probably why," Travis pointed out. "Are you nervous?"

"About the debriefing or seeing my parents?" Hoshi stalled.

"I guess both. I mean, some of what's happened has been scary, and we don't know how people will react. How our families' will react. Where do you even start with them?"

"I don't know. I'm scared that they'll hate me if they know. I hate myself. How could they not?" Hoshi looked down at the table and fiddled with her fork.

"Hoshi, look at me," Travis said while putting his hand on top of her free one. "What happened was not your fault. Nobody is going to blame you. Your parents love you, right?"

Hoshi nodded, her eyes still downcast.

"This isn't going to change that. They'll still love you."

She looked up, and he saw the pain in her eyes.

"Thanks, Travis. I'm just not sure whether I can believe that right now."

'One more day of not knowing,' she added, in her thoughts. 'I'm going to tell them. I can't spend my life hiding it from them. I can't.'

* * *

"Where is Commander Tucker?" T'Pol asked.

Commander Tucker, Captain Archer and T'Pol were meant to be having dinner together. Their final dinner before everybody's parents, except her own, and Captain Archer's of course, arrived. Unless his parents were ghosts. The whimsical thought that crossed her mind startled her. The Vulcan Science Directorate had determined that ghosts do not exist. They also said that time travel was impossible, her mind reminded her. Captain Archer had told her that an invitation had been extended to her parents, but she did not believe that they would come. Logic dictated that they would not.

"Trip sent his apologies. He said that some of the repairs are causing major problems," Archer replied.

"Captain, it is possible that some of the repairs will still be causing 'major problems' tomorrow when his parents arrive. It may be best if he is reminded of this event an hour before it is due to happen. It would affect how the crew are perceived if he was not there to greet the guests."

"You're right. It would look even worse if he turned up in an unclean uniform after working a double shift. Thank you, T'Pol. I trust that you would be willing to do what is necessary to make sure that he is presentable?" Archer smirked slightly. 'You never suggest something like that,' he thought. 'It's called volunteering yourself.'

"Yes, Captain."

They both waited quietly while the steward placed their meals on the table.

"Are you sure that your parents won't come?" Archer finally asked.

T'Pol sighed mentally, before rebuking herself for such an illogical act. "I don't believe that they will come," she shortly replied.

"A pity," Archer murmured.

* * *

"Commander."

T'Pol's statement automatically made Trip look up in her direction, causing him to hit his head on the roof of the maintenance tunnel. He winced, swore and rubbed his head as he sent a glare in the Vulcan's direction.

"Damnit, T'Pol. You could at least give me some warning," he grouched.

"Lieutenant Hess directed me to you, after I had tried contacting you repeatedly," T'Pol said, trying to ignore the smell of sweat and dirt that seemed to pervade the air around him. He had gone back to working on the open panel in front of him.

"Well, what do you want?" Trip asked bluntly.

"It is just past 0800, Commander."

He looked back at her. "So?"

"In 55 minutes your parents, the rest of the bridge crew's parents as well as Admiral Forrest will be arriving."

"Yeah, well, they'll just have to wait. I've been working on this for the past three hours and it's going to take another two. It can't just be left," Trip explained while he adjusted a relay inside the panel. A spark suddenly lit up the maintenance tunnel as it made contact with his fingers.

"God damn it!" he mumbled around the fingers in his mouth.

"Commander, would it reduce the time taken to repair this panel if we work on it together?" T'Pol asked with a raised eyebrow. Trip withdrew his fingers from his mouth and inspected them for damage, a tad singed, before replying, "It might."

Fifteen minutes later T'Pol said, "It is illogical to work double shifts when in two days there will be a large repair team working on Enterprise. The repairs you make now will be minimal compared to what they will achieve."

"Why, thank you so much for your support, T'Pol," Trip paused and said sarcastically. He waved his spanner around him. "Everything we get fixed now is one less thing for them to screw up. They'll take twice as long doing it, and inevitably we'll have to go through and refix it all after we leave again. My crew have been looking after this ship for three years. They know her inside and out. Those repair crews won't have any idea. Everything we fix now is one less thing for them to touch."

"Then it is a matter of pride," T'Pol stated.

Trip glared at her and shook his head before turning back to the panel. While he continued the repairs, he thought about how to get it through her thick, but cute, Vulcan skull.

"How would you like it if a whole team of scientists went over every last scrap of data you'd collected from the last three years and pulled all your conclusions apart, even coming to some erroneous ones?" he finally said. "If the Vulcan Science Directorate took everything and said that you must be imagining things, because time travel is impossible?"

"It is illogical to like or dislike the process. It is called peer review and, even on Earth, it has been the norm in scientific circles for many centuries."

Trip muttered, "I give up."

* * *

0

Captain Archer walked into the observation area of the shuttle bay. Malcolm was, unsurprisingly, already in the room, looking out towards the front of the bay.

"Malcolm," Jonathon said. Malcolm jumped before turning to face him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Everything's ready for their arrival, Sir."

Malcolm looked distinctly uncomfortable. Almost as bad as the time that Jonathon had asked him to come to breakfast in the Captain's Mess.

'Family,' Jonathon thought. 'Somehow it always seems to make every adult into a little kid again.'

The console beeped.

"The shuttle is on its way, Sir. ETA five minutes," Malcolm said.

Jonathon nodded in reply as Hoshi and Travis hurried in the door. He moved across to the wall comm. and activated it.

"Archer to T'Pol."

He waited several seconds before saying, "Archer to Engineering."

"Hess here, Captain," came the quick reply.

"Lieutenant, has Commander Tucker left Engineering yet?"

"No, Sir. He is working in a maintenance tunnel. I believe that T'Pol went looking for him, but that was almost an hour ago, Sir. She has not been back out."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Archer out."

Jonathon closed his eyes and reminded himself of the cardinal rule: Thou shall not kick your Chief Engineer in the butt. Even when he really really deserves it.

The tension level went up significantly when the shuttle landed. Malcolm could not have stood straighter if he'd had a pole shoved up the back of his shirt. The bay was re-pressurised and Captain Archer and the three members of his bridge crew that had deigned him with their presence descended to greet their welcome party. The first to step out of the shuttle was Admiral Forrest.

"Captain Archer," he said, smiling broadly, "On the behalf of Earth, welcome home."

"Thank you Admiral," Archer replied for his crew.

Admiral Forrest looked at the three officers standing behind Archer and asked, "Where is Commander Tucker and T'Pol?"

"I believe that Commander Tucker is working on some essential repairs and that T'Pol is assisting him. I don't think that it will be too long before they've finished," Archer replied, resisting the temptation to sigh.

"Their dedication does them credit," Forrest said, with a slight smile. "Ensign Mayweather, I'm sorry to say that your mother isn't here to greet you. Unfortunately the Horizon was too far out to get back here in time."

Travis smiled sadly before saying, "That's alright, Sir. I know she'd be here is she could."

"Well, enough of the formalities," Forrest said, rubbing his hands together. "Eric, can you please ask our guests to join us?"

"Certainly, Sir," came the muffled reply from in the shuttle, before six people exited the shuttle slowly. Two were immediately identifiable as Hoshi's parents, Archer remembered Malcolm's parents, who followed, from contacting them on Malcolm's birthday, leaving a lone man behind to be Trip's father. There was an obvious resemblance, but Archer was left wondering where his mother was. Finally, the last person to exit was an older man who smiled when he saw Jon.

"Uncle Mike?" Archer said with a look of surprise on his face.

The man's smile widened as he stepped forward and pulled Jon into a bear hug. After a moment of stunned inactivity, Jon responded to the hug. When Mike let him go, Jon saw that Hoshi's parents had moved to hug her as well, and Malcolm's parents stood rather awkwardly beside him.

"Admiral Forrest was kind enough to invite me along, Jon," Mike said. Jon snapped his attention back to him and Forrest and expressed his gratitude.

"Some introductions," Admiral Forrest said. "Captain Jonathon Archer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Ensigns Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato may I present Mike Cunningham who worked with Henry Archer many years ago, Stuart and Mary Reed, Kenji and Ikuko Sato, and Charles Tucker the second. Apparently your son, Mr Tucker, is working on some repairs at the moment. He shouldn't be much longer. Jonathon, why don't we have a tour of the ship while we're waiting?"


	3. Chapter 3

Trip let lose another volley of swear words and hit the wall beside him in frustration.

"Commander, I do not believe that losing your temper is helping," T'Pol said mildly.

"Every time I think I've fixed this son of a bitch, something new goes wrong! I think I'm entitled to lose my temper. I've been stuck inside this tunnel for hours and it's starting to piss me off!" Trip shouted, while raking his sweaty hands through his already damp hair, causing it to stick out in various directions. He rubbed his hands hard across his eyes, feeling the fatigue caused by days of non-stop repair work.

"I'm sorry, T'Pol," he said finally. "You're right. Let's try to get this finished before the shuttle arrives."

"The shuttle will have arrived already," T'Pol stated. "Captain Archer will not be pleased with our absence."

Trip felt his anger flare up again and could not restrain it. "Captain Archer should be grateful that his Chief Engineer is doing his bloody job!"

T'Pol refrained from making any further comments, deducing from Commander Tucker's reactions that any further statements of fact would only result in lower productivity and additional irrational outbursts.

Trip managed to keep his temper mostly in check for the half-hour it took to finally locate and repair all the malfunctioning parts. When his diagnostic showed that all was right again with this particular part of his world he patted the closed panel and said affectionately, "That's my girl."

As they crawled out of the tunnel, T'Pol said, "I suggest that we both have showers before we meet up with the visitors."

"I need more than a bloody shower," Trip muttered, not even thinking of the obvious retort that might have come to him two years ago or admiring the view in front of him. He arched his back when they reached main engineering, sighing as sore muscles stretched and joints cracked.

He looked at the warp reactor and his crew bustling about and felt a stab of pride. Every so often he took the opportunity to revel in the fact that he was the Chief Engineer of Earth's first warp five ship. True, he hadn't done much of that in the past year, but now, now that he finally might have a hope of moving on, he grabbed the opportunity with both hands. His crew were miracle workers. Through all the damage the ship had suffered over the last year, the crew they had lost, they had managed to hold it together. Even when he was falling apart, he barely admitted. Each of them had put in 150%, and he couldn't be prouder of them.

Lieutenant Hess hurried over to him. "Commander, Captain Archer was looking for you half an hour ago."

Trip gave a tired smile. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Everything under control?"

"Yes, Sir. Repairs are continuing ahead of schedule."

"Good." Trip went to his desk and picked up a pad, crossing the junction they had just repaired off the list.

"Lieutenant, Engineering is yours," he called as he and T'Pol walked out the door.

'Coffee, I need coffee,' Trip hazily thought as he walked along the corridor next to T'Pol. He ignored the empty feeling in his stomach and the fact that his eyes felt like someone had dumped them in coarse sand and then ground their heel on top of them. He'd learnt while he was at the Academy how to temporarily deal with that sort of fatigue and ignore it. Part of the answer was lots of coffee. He knew that he and T'Pol must look an odd couple. T'Pol, in the hour and a half of work she had done, had managed to stay completely clean other than for a few faint smudges on her hands. While he was covered in sweat, his hair was probably a mess (Lizzie had tried to get him out of the habit of raking his hands through his hair when he was incredibly frustrated) and somehow he was coated with dirt and grease. How there gets to be so much dirt and grease on a starship he wasn't sure. But it was a fact: work in any maintenance tunnel for a length of time, and, unless you were a Vulcan, somehow you end up filthy.

When they got into the enclosed space of the turbolift, Trip realised that he wasn't just sweaty and dirty.

"Sorry, T'Pol," he said. "I don't know how you put up with it for that long."

T'Pol said, "You cannot help how you smell, Commander." She then made the effort to reply with what she had learned that the emotional humans appreciate. "While unnecessary, I thank you for your concern. I 'put up' with the smell of both you and a horse, I can 'put up' with your smell."

The turbolift doors opened and they stepped out onto B deck, heading to their respective quarters. They rounded a bend in the corridor to find Captain Archer and his party heading towards them.

"Trip, T'Pol," Archer said, as a look of slight disbelief at the state of his engineer crossed his face.

"Father?" Trip said as Charles Tucker the second appeared from behind Hoshi's parents.

Trip, interpreting the look of disapproval and shock that his father gave him as resulting from how filthy he was, explained defensively that he had been repairing some systems.

"And, T'Pol helped," he added.

Charles' expression seemed to widen into distaste as he finally acknowledged T'Pol's presence by glancing in her direction.

Archer broke the awkward silence that had descended. "That is why your son is one of Starfleet's finest engineers, Mr. Tucker. He leads by example, he doesn't expect his staff to do things that he won't." He turned back to Trip. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and meet us in the Mess Hall when you've finished?" he suggested.

Trip nodded, finally breaking eye contact with his father and, after saying "Sir" to Admiral Forrest, walked past the group.


	4. Chapter 4

Trip sank down against the wall in his cabin, knees pulled up to his chest with his arms encircling them. He sat staring blankly at the opposite wall, while his mind tried to process the information.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he finally murmured, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Archer to Tucker."

Trip jumped and looked around in confusion. The voice came again, and Trip's foggy mind finally connected that it was the wall comm. It took him two attempts to lever himself off the floor, and he walked with an uneven gait to the comm., as his foot was asleep.

He activated the comm. "Tucker here," he croakily replied, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Commander, it's been forty-five minutes. How much longer are you going to be?"

Trip could hear the slight edge in the Captain's voice that was usually brought on by frustration. He blinked and tried to focus his mind. Forty-five minutes. He'd only been sitting down for a couple of minutes...or so he'd thought.

"Sorry, Captain. I must have dozed off," he lied, "I'll be fifteen minutes. Tucker out."

He limped into the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger who stared back. He slowly put his hand on the mirror, spreading his fingers, shattering the image of the stranger's face into shards.

* * *

'Come on, Trip, hurry up,' Jon thought for the fifteenth time. He didn't think that this could be any more awkward. But he also wasn't sure whether adding Trip to the mix would help. Particularly not after the look of shock and utter surprise on Trip's face when he saw his father. Like he hadn't expected him to come. And Jon definitely hadn't expected Trip to call Charles the second 'father'. Dad, yeah. But father sounded so distant, not what Trip had portrayed his family as being.

Jon had asked whether Trip's mother was alright and was a little unnerved to find none of Trip's speech patterns in the reply. A clean accent answered him, definitely not Southern, the words properly enunciated, and, unlike Trip, no embellishments. He answered the question asked, no correspondence entered into: Mrs. Tucker was feeling unwell, thankyou for your concern. Leaving Admiral Forrest and he standing there silently, both frantically looking for somethingâ€”anythingâ€”to say, but both unsure as their expectations had been turned upside down.

'At least we're not the only awkward ones,' Jon thought, slightly pleased that their misery had company. Malcolm and his parents hadn't moved from their stiff postures in one corner of the room; the silence infrequently broken by military precision questions and answers.

The only two who looked like they were having a good time were Mike and Travis; Jon hadn't seen Travis so animated in a long time.

T'Pol had put in a brief appearance, excusing herself from the tour soon after to check some results she had gathered over the past few months. Jon, as much as he hated to admit it, felt relieved that T'Pol wouldn't be there. On first impression she usually managed to put people off. And second and third impression. Hell, for the first couple of months. At least that was one unknown out of the equation.

The other unknown chose that moment to walk in, looking a lot cleaner, if not a lot healthier. He immediately went to get a coffee, taking a large gulp, before walking towards them.

"Captain, Admiral." Trip nodded, before turning to his father. "Father, how are you?" His accent had thickened noticeably.

"I'm fine, Charles." Trip's jaw muscles clenched at the use of his given name, which rolled very naturally off Charles the Second's tongue.

"Well," Forrest said. "Why don't we let everyone have a chance to catch up, Jon?" He walked purposefully over to Travis. "Ensign Mayweather."

"Sir?" Travis queried.

"Why don't you take me on the unofficial tour?"

Travis smiled and responded, "Yes, Sir!" as they walked out the door. Jon thought he saw a slight hint of mischief in Travis' eyes.

Everybody gradually drifted out of the room, leaving Trip and his father in their own Mexican stand off. Silence reigned for several minutes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Trip finally exploded.

"I'm your father, Charles. I have a right to be here."

Trip paced around the room, before turning incredulously back. "You've never taken advantage of that right before. Why now? You didn't come to my graduation, not in school or Starfleet. None of the press functions for Enterprise. _Nothing_. Are you feeling guilty? Is that it? Your daughter's dead so you're finally going to notice your kids?" The words tumbled out of Trip's mouth, shards of glass shattering on the floor. "I don't even know why you bothered going to Lizzie's memorial service. You never went to anything for her in life, why should you now that she's dead?"

A slap rang around the room. Trip raised a hand to his reddening face, noticing his father's was white with anger. Tears sprang to Trip's eyes, as both stared in shock at the other. Trip finally looked away, cleared his throat and said huskily, "I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have said that."

He took a shuddering breath, trying to will away the sobs that threatened to engulf him. He'd never meant to say that, to intentionally hurt his father like that. There were some things that you never say, no matter how angry you were. He turned away to look out the viewport, staring blankly at the stars, waiting until the threatening sobs receded.

"There's billions of stars out there, thousands of planets. So many different races. So many different cultures. And it seems like most of the ones we meet are gunning for us, or holding us back. But then, people do desperate things in desperate times, no matter who they are," Trip reflected. "And the people left behind have to figure out some way to move on." He hung his head.

"Was Elizabeth happy?"

A sad smile settled onto Trip's face. "Yeah. She was. She loved her job, she loved the freedom she had in not begin married. So many people find it hard being happy by themselves, being single; she knew that if she couldn't be happy by herself she wouldn't be happy with someone else. In her last couple of letters, she'd mentioned that she thought she might have met someone. The 'tall, dark and handsome' that she'd always wanted. I don't know whether they got together before..." He paused and finished quietly, "Before she was killed."

"Were you happy?" He looked at Trip's reflection. "Before she was killed?"

Trip stayed silent for a few moments, thinking. "Yeah, I guess so. I was doing what I loved. Exploring, fixing things, looking after my engines." A slightly sarcastic note entered his voice. "Getting pregnant..."

Trip looked up into the eyes of his father's reflection, challenging them.

"I'd hoped that was just a rumour."

"You'd hoped that your son wasn't stupid enough to get himself knocked up, you mean," Trip said, defensiveness creeping again into this tone. "Well, I'll tell you what, when you meet a Xyrillian, don't stick your hands in a box full of pebbles when they tell you it's just a game."

Trip was surprised at the bitterness he felt. He hadn't felt it then, but he realised now that he felt like she'd taken advantage of him. Everybody at the time had been looking at the ridiculous and funny aspects of it; he'd never taken the time to really consider what the circumstances exactly were. She had taken advantage of him. He pushed it to the back of his mind. He didn't have the time or inclination to deal with this at the moment.

"Charles," his father started, "she..."

Trip cut him off. "Just leave it okay? I don't want to talk about it."

His father's gaze shifted to the barely touched cup of coffee on the table. "You've lost weight," he said bluntly. "You look like crap, Charles. Do you need to go back to the clinic? I can get you in without any reporters knowing."

Trip laughed bitterly. "That's all you think about isn't it? How it would make you look, having a son who has something wrong with him? I'm fine. I made sure it was on my medical record when I went into Starfleet. It just means they keep a close eye on me: Phlox watches me and makes sure I'm fine. So don't worry, I'm not going to embarrass you anytime soon."

"I don't care about you embarrassing me. I don't want you to have to go through that sort of media scrutiny. Because believe me, they'll bring it up every time they mention your name," he said intensely. "You don't deserve that, Charles. The media can be vicious. I know, I've seen it. And I never wanted that happening to any of you. You know that your mother was pregnant with you when we got married. The company wasn't anywhere as big then as it is now and the media still tore into us. They've got nothing better to do. You don't want your private life being public news."

"Do you want me to show you the engine?" Trip changed the subject.


	5. Chapter 5

"Commander Tucker would have gotten a reprimand if he was that late on a Navy ship," Stuart Reed said with the air of someone pronouncing sentence. "He'd never make it in the Navy."

Malcolm resisted the urge to sigh. "We're not in the navy, Father, and Trip's had it hard the past year. His sister was killed in the attack." He waited for the expected reaction.

"Trip? Isn't that what the Captain called him? Are you fraternising with your superiors, Malcolm?" His father pinned him with an intent look.

"Trip is the sort of person who makes it his mission in life to be everybody's friend. He probably regarded me as a challenge."

"I'm glad to see you've made some friends," his mother put in, "but is he alright? He doesn't look well."

Malcolm suppressed a flicker of jealousy. His mother had only briefly seen Trip and she was more worried about him than her own son. "He's just exhausted from the past year. It was a strain on all of us. We lost a lot of crewâ€”we even thought that we'd lost the Captain." He remembered the look of absolute shock on Trip's face, and that it should have been himself, not the Captain.

An awkward silence descended. But then again, silence was always awkward for the Reeds.

"Oh, for pity's sake," his mother finally said with exasperation. "Yes, this family might not be the closest, but surely we can at least have a polite conversation." She glared at both of them.

"So, how are you today, Malcolm?" his father asked.

"I'm fine, Father. How are you?" Malcolm replied with the same mock seriousness.

His mother rolled her eyes and shook her head.

* * *

â€”-â€”-â€”

Jon and Mike sat in his quarters, savouring Jon's second-to-last bottle of bourbon. His small stock had been barely touched over the last year. He felt a twinge of guilt; he'd mostly drunk alone since the start of the mission. He'd never even thought of sharing the drink with Trip, as he would have before the Expanse.

"How are you doing, Jonny?" Mike asked.

Jon looked up from his glass, slightly uncomfortable at the question.

"I don't know," he admitted. There was a pause. "I've tried not to think about it. It was just putting one small step forward, one after another, trying not to look at the big picture. Trying not to care as much." He finished in a murmur, swirling the bourbon in his glass.

"A Captain needs to care about his crew," Mike said, "otherwise the ship won't function. I saw that when we were working on the engine, Jon. Your father cared about everyone working under him, took the time to be interested in them. I bet that Commander Tucker's team works harder than any other in Starfleet because he cares about them, and he shows it."

Jon smiled. "Trip's one of those people who can pretty much instantly engender loyalty. Virtually anyone on this ship would do anything he asked of them, would do whatever it took to save him."

His tone became sombre. "I shouldn't have brought him on Enterprise. How can I be an effective Captain when my best friend is one of the crew? I shouldn't care about any member of the crew more than the rest. I nearly lost him, and that hurt more than all the people we did lose. I couldn't even admit to myself that what I did to save him I did because I cared about him and not his engineering skills. We needed him for the mission and I pushed him away; I pushed all of them away. I tried to stay detached so it wouldn't hurt so much."

Jon looked at some far away point, filled with memories of the people they had lost. "But you're right: that's no way for a Captain to run a ship. Maybe I shouldn't be running it."

Mike let him finish without interrupting, sensing Jon's need to unburden the weight that had been pressing down on him for so long. "Jon, it is a reality of life that we need to have friends. The people we see the most are going to become the people we know the most, and of course it's going to hurt more losing someone you know wellâ€”someone who is your friend.

"But I'm betting that over the past three years you've become friends with all the people I met today. Maybe you're not as close as you are with Trip, but friends nonetheless. And it would hurt you almost as much to lose one of them. You can't avoid that Jon, or else you're going to end up a lonely old man.

"Any Captain who tries to avoid having friends, or thinks they should avoid it, should never have the job. Loyalty goes both ways; they need to know that they can trust their Captain. That their Captain is someone they trust enough to be a friend. Who would you trust making the big decisions in your life, Jon? Trip, or one of the nameless, faceless people you went through the academy with and never got to know?"

He left Jon to his silence for several minutes, before judging that it was time to change the subject. "What was with the tension before? You'd think that none of them has a decent relationship with their parents."

Jon smiled sadly. "Malcolm I expected; they're not very close. Hoshi's been through a lot, but I think they'll be okay." He took another sip of his drink, his thoughts turning to his best friend. "Trip, on the other hand, I didn't expect him to be so cold and formal. You were talking about trust: he didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. The way Trip talks about his parents, you'd do anything to have them as your own. But, I've known him for ten years, and I've never met his parents or even seen them. The way he talks about them, though, it always sounded real. I dunno. If Trip's lied to me about his parents, what else could he have lied about?"

"I would be careful, Jon, not to jump to any conclusions until you talk to him about it. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Admittedly, I can't think of one, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. I don't know him, Jon, but you've trusted him for ten years, trust him until he tells you that you've got a reason not to."

* * *

â€”-â€”-â€”-â€”-â€”-â€”-â€”-

"And you run all this?" Trip's father asked as he and Trip stood looking down on Engineering. Trip was surprised to hear the emotion in his father's voice; he never thought that his father would be envious of him. He'd asked some surprisingly intelligent questions on their tour, seeming to know a lot about Enterprise's systems and the science behind some of it. The interest his father had shown had thawed a lot of Trip's initial animosity towards him.

"Yep," Trip said proudly, "they're the best team in the Fleet. I couldn't ask for better." He straightened up from where he was leaning and fought off a wave of dizziness, hoping his father wouldn't notice. 'You're just tired,' he told himself.

Trip looked at his father's face and saw a familiar expression. Several years ago Jon had taken a couple of photographs while Trip was totally engrossed with an engineering problem, to show him the rapt look he got on his face. Trip had been surprised to see how happy and intent he looked in the pictures and was more surprised now to spot the same look on his father's face. 'Well, I guess I must have gotten the abilities and the love for it from somewhere,' he thought.

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you the transporters. And before you ask, no, we can't transport something." Trip said the last as his father's mouth opened.

"Spoilsport," the word was muttered. "You know, I was thinking about doing some rearranging of how the business is structured."

Trip tensed at the mention of 'business' and tried to sound casual as he said, "Uh huh, and?"

"And I think I can step down as the CEO. The board is a good one, it's been the same people for the last ten years; I think they'll run the company well."

Trip stopped walking and looked at him. "You realise that Charles the First will have a heart attack?"

"Yes, but it'll only be slightly larger than the one he had when he realised that no one in the family would be taking over from me."

Trip bristled at the last statement. He'd always been made to feel like he'd let his father and grandfather down. "You know I wouldn't have been good at it," he started.

His father held up his hand. "I accepted that you wouldn't be taking over a long time ago. You wouldn't have loved it, but I think you'd have been good at it. You run a crew here, it's the same thing. Anyway, I never wanted to take over the company."

Trip interrupted. "You didn't? Then why the hell did you?"

"I had a family to support."

Trip was stunned into silence. "I always assumed that you loved the company."

"I didn't, to begin with, but I grew to love it. It was either that or be miserable for the rest of my life."

Trip resumed walking. "If you do resign, what are you going to do now?"

His father smiled excitedly. "What I wanted to do originally. I'm going to go to university and study physics."

If Trip hadn't seen the expression on his father's face earlier he might have been flabbergasted at the statement. As it was, he accepted the idea. "What does Mother say about your plans?" He looked at the slightly guilty expression on the older man's face and understood. "You haven't told her. You're going to leave her too, aren't you?"

"Do you blame me?" his father asked blandly.

Trip thought for a moment. "Well, no. I honestly don't know why you stayed with her this long. You realise she'll probably have a fainting fit when you tell her?" He sniggered slightly at the mental image; he'd never seen someone swoon as well as his mother, even in the movies.

His father nodded. "It's not like she's going to get a bad deal: she can keep the damn house, and she'll get half of our savings. And I get rid of her. Plus, she gets the added bonus of something new to moan about for the next ten years."

"More like fifteen," Trip said.

"So, have you found a special someone, Charles?"

Trip glanced at his father who was staring fixedly ahead. "I wish you'd stop calling me that, call me Trip," he said with exasperation.

"I am not going to call you by a ridiculous nickname that doesn't describe you at all."

Trip stopped. "You have no idea where it comes from, do you?"

"I assumed it's because you used to 'trip' over things a lot as a child, but I don't remember you being especially clumsy."

Trip shook his head in wonder. "No, it's because I'm Charles Tucker the Third... Triple... Trip."

"Well, I suppose that makes more sense. Who started calling you that?"

"Christina."

"Ah," his father said. "Well then, Trip it is. Now, are you going to avoid my question Ch...Trip?" He corrected himself consciously.

"I dunno, I might have," Trip said with a slightly dreamy smile. "Possibly. But I'm not sure whether she's really interested. It's complicated."

"It always is," his father said evenly, with a rigid look on his face.

'Well, this is a bunch of laughs,' Jon thought. They were sitting at tables in the mess hall for lunch. T'Pol and Doctor Phlox had joined them, but other than Admiral Forrest asking why no one had told him about the Sweet Spot before, there had been very little chatter. At least Trip no longer looked like he was about to kill his father, and Jon had been surprised to hear Charles the Second call him Trip, albeit after some hesitation. Trip wasn't eating much: it probably wasn't helping that Charles was staring with vulture-like intensity at Trip's meal. Trip was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. Jon watched with a kind of sick fascination, waiting for and dreading the eventual explosion he knew would come, and no one would be able to stop.

"Malcolm, I was just thinking about that trip to Risa," Trip said in a tone that clearly invited continuation.

"You mean, when we got mugged? Remind me to never try to pick up women with you again." There was a hint of a smirk on Malcolm's face.

Jon nearly snorted, repressing it at the last instant. It definitely explained their unclothed state on the shuttle. Everybody else appeared quite shocked, even their parents; there was no way they could know the details of the incident, but it wasn't something that they would associate with the conduct of Starfleet officers.

Malcolm continued. "Or, there was that time when we went exploring that repair stationâ€¦"

"â€¦And we got transported off onto the bridge still crawling," Trip finished. "What about when we lead that mutiny?"

"You trying to kill T'Pol when you were high on that pollen."

"Falling off the horse," T'Pol interjected.

"Thank you, T'Pol," Trip said with a smile. "Nearly getting fried on that asteroid."

"From what I heard, running around the ship in your underwear," Malcolm said, barely hiding a smirk.

"You getting into a fight with Major Hayes." Trip's voice had a hard edge to it.

"You in your underwear, yet again, when we found you on that world with that Princess."

"You threatening to shoot me!"

"You trying to kill yourself!"

"That's enough!" Jon was finally able to get a word in edgewise. His head was whirling with the accusations each had made. "Outside, now!" The two glared at each other, before standing up and moving to the door. Jon glanced at their parents' faces: Trip's father looked like he'd been hit in the stomach, while Malcolm's father looked like he'd smelt something bad. Oddly enough, Malcolm's mother was smiling faintly.

Jon stalked outside to the corridor where they stood against the wall in the corridor, Trip slouching and Malcolm at attention as per normal. "What the hell was that little display for?" he asked, barely containing his urge to shake both of them. "You are two of my most senior officers, and you are acting like children." He looked from one to the other: Malcolm looked straight ahead while Trip challenged his gaze. "And what the hell was that last bit about? Trip?"

Trip replied unemotionally. "It was on Shuttlepod One, when we were stuck there. We didn't think we'd have enough air, so I was going to go up into the airlock. Malcolm threatened to shoot me."

"What kind of security officer would I be if I let a senior officer kill themselves to save me," Malcolm replied just as evenly.

"Then why the hell didn't you threaten to shoot him?" Trip yelled, gesturing towards Jon. He looked away, trying to hide the hurt they could see on his face, the hurt that he'd felt ever since they had thought the Captain was dead.

"What kind of Captain am I if I'm not willing to do what my crew will do, Trip?" Jon said quietly.

"The sort of Captain that is still alive to captain his vessel afterwards," Trip replied softly, before turning and walking down the corridor. Malcolm stepped forward to go after him, but Jon stopped him.

"Let him go; he needs to cool off. And we'll get another bit of the ship up and running," Jon said, suddenly exhausted. How had the mood changed so quickly? Their comments had originally been aimed to shock their parents yes, but not to hurt each other.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Malcolm said. "I don't know what got into me."

"I do." Jon was still watching Trip's retreating form. He turned back to Malcolm. "The same thing that's been affecting all of us. Too much stress, exhaustion, despair... trying to shock your parents." Trip may have started the conversation, but Malcolm had joined in without being pushed.

Jon continued. "All our emotions are all over the place. We've all been snapping at each other, and things have been left unresolved. But I want it understood, Lieutenant, that I never want to see this kind of behaviour from you or Trip again."

"Yes, Sir, it won't happen again. I never would have done this before I met Trip," Malcolm admitted.

Jon sighed theatrically. "That's because Trip is a bad influence and does what he can to corrupt those around him." They walked back into the mess, where all eyes turned towards them and the stilted conversation halted in expectation.

"Something came up in Engineering," Jon said a little too abruptly. "Trip's gone to look at it."

"Well, I better get back to Sickbay," Phlox said cheerfully. "Thank you for an entertaining meal, Captain. Admiral."

"If you would excuse me as well," Charles said hurriedly as he stood up and walked out of the room.

Jon followed him out into the corridor. "Mr. Tucker," he said. Charles stopped, allowing Jon to catch up. "Trip's been under a lot of stress, he normally doesn't act like that."

"I understand, Captain," Charles said tightly, "but I need to talk to him. You said he'd gone back to Engineering?"

Jon nodded and pressed the wall comm. "Archer to Engineering."

"Hess here, Sir."

"Has Commander Tucker returned to Engineering, Lieutenant?"

"Uh, yes, Sir. A few minutes ago. He's repairing Junction 43B."

"Lieutenant, the Commander's father will be there in a few minutes. I want somebody to show him to where Commander Tucker is working."

"Understood, Sir."

* * *

"Son." 

For the second time that day, Trip cursed the design of maintenance tunnels. Vocally and at length.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" His father's tone was ironic.

Trip looked at his father's brown eyes while rubbing his own head. Funny that: two recessive genes from his parents coming together to produce blue-eyed children. Hair darker than his own, a slightly shorter, stockier build, a completely different accent; he could almost believe that he was not Charles Tucker the Second's son. However, he could pass himself off as Christina's child very easily and had done so on occasion-although the accent wasn't quite right. Something that had started off as a means to annoy his parents and grandfather had very quickly become an integral part of his personality. And of course, James and Lizzie had picked the accent up from him.

"You tried to kill yourself." Trip looked away from his father's eyes at the softly spoken words. "How could you?"

Trip tried to avoid hearing the hurt and pain in his father's words. He tried to retreat to the anger he'd felt earlier, but it wouldn't come. "It's not what you think. We didn't think there was enough air for two of us, why should I live over Malcolm?"

"Why shouldn't you?" His father moved forward and grabbed the sides of Trip's head, forcing Trip to look at him. Trip closed his eyes in response. "Look at me." Trip shook his head, before opening his eyes again. He didn't want to see the compassion and the love that were in the brown eyes before him. "When I first saw you today I was terrified, more terrified than I have been in a long time. The way you lookedâ€¦ I thought, 'am I going to lose my boy again? Did you fight so hard back then and everyday since for nothing?' I know this is your mother's and my fault; I should have been there for you instead of everywhere else. I should have been there to see it happening and to get you help earlier." His father paused. "I'm sorry, Trip. I'm sorry for failing you, and for failing Lizzie and James." His father sat down heavily against the side of the tunnel, not looking at Trip.

"I've never told you when exactly it started." Trip hesitated before continuing. "It was when Mother told me that it was my fault Christina left. I'm not saying that things weren't starting to happen before then, but that was the real trigger." Trip waited apprehensively for his father's reaction.

"She did what?" he exploded. "Of all the stupid, idiotic, _untrue_ things for her to say. Your mother thought I was having an affair with Christina because she found that Christina was calling me while I was away, even though she was only calling me to let me know what was happening with you kids." He rubbed a hand agitatedly over his face.

"I didn't know Christina did that," Trip said. He moved to sit on the opposite side of the tunnel, putting the tools he had been using down beside him.

"You are my children," his father said simply. Between them settled the first companionable the two had ever known.

"I haven't eaten in the last couple of days," Trip spoke quietly but steadily. "I was stressed; stressed over everything that has happened and that you and Mother had been invited here. I didn't think you would show up, but if you didn't I'd have to explain that.

"When we were in the Expanse, people started skipping meals. I told the Captain that the crew needed some recreation, or there would be big problems. I know how dangerous being like that is, I am not going to let it beat me or anyone else again. The voice is not in control of my life and I never want it to be again. I'm not going to let it. I know the longer I don't eat, the more of a chance it has."

His father smiled at him. "You are the strongest person I know, but you can't deal with this alone. Your Doctor knows, does anyone else? Have you told the Captain?"

Trip laughed without humour. "Hello Captain, how are you today? By the way, I have anorexia."

"I think you need a bit more of a lead in," his father said dryly. "I've been hearing for years about how he's your best friend. Why didn't you tell him?"

Trip smiled sadly. "Starfleet was a new beginning. Only the doctors knew, everything was under control, I was working on the warp project," the words were spoken with awe, "I was happy. And I met Jonathon Archer, Henry Archer's son. He accepted me for who I was, he enjoyed my company; he needed what I appeared to be: a carefree person with life at his feet, who wasn't a stickler for protocol or obeying orders.

"He'd been around serious academia and the edge of the limelight for so long, I'm not even sure he got to enjoy his childhood. I could give him back part of that. But over the last year we've both changed. We're back at the beginning; he's too serious and withdrawn and I'm struggling again. I can't tell him, because I need to pull him back again, and I can't if he knows. He'll worry about me, he'll watch me, and neither of us need that."

"Trip that's not friendship, that's dependence. Friendship goes both ways."


	6. Chapter 6

After directing Mr Tucker to Engineering, Jon had returned to the Mess Hall. Admiral Forrest suggested that there was no point in trying to continue the meal and the participants left the room with some relief. As Jon and Mike walked back to Jon's quarters, Mike started quietly chortling, though he tried to restrain himself until they were well inside where he laughed loudly. Jon looked at him with bemusement, seeing the humour in the previous situation.

Still chuckling, Mike managed to speak. "Your Head of Security got mugged while trying to pick up women?"

"Malcolm's normally very conscientious. But put him in a situation where Trip has a chance to lead him astray..." Porthos was jumping up and barking, trying to get Jon's attention. After a moment, Jon gave in, kneeling to rub the beagle around the ears.

"He seemed very uptight until that little display at lunch."

"He's from a Navy background."

"Ahh, that explains it. You know, sometimes I think Aldous Huxley had the right idea."

The conversational left turn threw Jon. While still playing with the beagle, he looked up at Mike quizzically.

"Brave New World. Test tube babies with no parents to screw them up. Because they all do." Mike smiled wryly. "Hey, I screwed my kids up, it looks like Trip's parents screwed him up and Malcolm's too. Your father screwed you up." Mike looked him square in the face. Jon felt his stomach drop, and all humour sublimated from his body. He stood up, and Porthos whined.

"My father did not screw me up, Mike." Jon spoke in quiet fury.

"Face reality, Jon. Your father was barely there for you, and when he was there, he wasn't really. You hero-worshipped him; he wasn't your father, he was your idol. You did everything you could to get his approval; you're living his dream, not yours, you never found out what yours was.

"Well he's dead, Jon, and you will never get his approval. You fought so hard for his engine but he wouldn't have cared. I knew him before you were born, he worked on problems no one had solved and once he was done with them he'd move on. He didn't care about the application.

"I'd like to think he'd be proud of your efforts if he was here, but I doubt he would be as he'd be too engrossed in trying to hit warp 7. He was obsessed, Jon, and it worries me that sometimes I see his obsession in you. You've got to figure out that Jonathon Archer is more than just Henry Archer's son and find yourself."

Jon tried to contain the warp core that was threatening to explode inside him. He forced himself to listen to the sentiment behind the words: worry and concern. He waited several minutes until he was calm enough to speak with a level voice. "You saw my father that way, and maybe he was obsessed, but I saw another side of him. My father was proud of me; he loved me. Yes, I worshipped him, I suppose I still do, but that's because he was more than just my father."

Mike spoke quietly. "I never meant to imply that he didn't love you. I just don't want you to become like him: obsessed to the exclusion of everything else. You've always acted as if you had something to prove to the world, to your father, to yourself. What do you have to prove now?"

* * *

Charles Tucker the Second stood looking out the view port at the stars. He felt like he was standing among them, walking among the stars. The lights were steady, not twinkling; so different to the Earthbound view. Everything looked different; the familiar patterns were harder to find. Rather than being the soft blanket that had shrouded most of his existence, it seemed like the view from here went on forever. 

There were so many bright lights, some of them long extinguished, others creeping up on a spectacular end to life: that would spark the light anew; that created the very elements that formed his body. Some were just starting out in life and would burn themselves out in a whirlwind of energy before they had a chance to live.

"You don't have to leave," he said, still facing the stars.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to disturb you." Charles turned and found that he had been right to assume that the voice belonged to Ensign Mayweather.

"You're not." He turned back, trying to spot the pattern of Orion the Hunter, one of the easiest constellations to find when one was Earthbound. His efforts were thwarted again; the sheer number of stars confused his senses. "I was just admiring the view while my son finishes some repairs. Your parents aren't here?" He thought he might have spotted Betelgeuse, but the other stars around it weren't right.

"My father died a bit over a year ago and my mother is the Chief Engineer and Chief Medic on the Horizon, a cargo ship."

Charles gave up on Orion and faced the Ensign again with new interest. "You're a boomer aren't you?" He nodded. "What was it like growing up on a ship?"

&Break&

The excitement and interest on the father's face was so much like the son's. As Travis told Charles about his life, he couldn't help but feel like he was talking to the Trip he had first gotten to know, before a year ago. He realised how much he missed the old Trip; in some ways he'd even started to forget what his friend had been like before the Xindi attack.

"What do you think of my son?" Mr. Tucker suddenly asked.

Travis tried to the hide the surprise he felt at the question while considering how to answer. "Trip's a very good engineer and senior officer. He's likeable, always trying to take an interest in the people around him, to make friends. He seems adept at spotting those who don't have anybody else to be close to."

"Lieutenant Reed being one of them?"

Travis was surprised at how easily Mr. Tucker had picked that up. Lieutenant Reed had changed a lot over the time that Travis had known him, becoming significantly less reserved and formal. Well, less reserved and formal for Lieutenant Reed anyway. "Yes, they're good friends now."

"And Sub-Commander T'Pol?" Mr. Tucker said the words casually, yet Travis couldn't help but feel that the question was anything but casual. He thought about the other Enterprise and Lorien, and about how a father might feel about a son's 'friendship' with a Vulcan.

"They've become good friends over the last year. I think she was helping him to sleep." Travis had watched the slow darkening of Mr. Tucker's features and amended his words from what he originally was going to say. There was a silence; Mr Tucker stood looking out at the stars, seeming to have forgotten Travis' presence. Travis waited a couple of minutes, before leaving as quietly as he'd entered.

* * *

"Getting mugged while trying to pick up women, leading a mutiny, getting into a fight, threatening to shoot a senior officer..." 

Malcolm stood at attention behind his father, trying not to be intimidated by the fact that his father had his back to him, trying to remember that he was not ten years old. "You forgot trying to blow up your bug collection," he added dryly.

There was a loaded silence before his father's shoulders started shaking. 'Wonderful,' Malcolm thought, 'he's so furious he's shaking.' Malcolm heard a snort, before full-blown laughter erupted from his father. 'Wonderful, I've driven my father completely and utterly barmy.' The laughter showed no sign of abating; his mother was sitting off to the side, smiling. "Is now a good time to mention that it was me, and not the cat, who broke your model of the Yorktown?"

The laughter abruptly stopped, but his mother's smirk widened.

'And all is right in the universe again.'

* * *

Trip mulled over the conversation with his father while he finished repairing the junction. He put a microcaliper down and picked up a hyperspanner. 

Two civilised conversations in one dayâ€”it had to be a new record for them. But his father's comments about his friendship with Jonathon Archer bothered him.

Was dependence all it was?

Captain Archer had saved Trip's life at least twice. But had he been there when Trip emotionally needed him? It seemed that in the past three years either Malcolm or T'Pol had been there to fulfil that role.

But things had to be different now anyway, he was the Captain. He didn't need to deal with all Trip's problems.

Had he tried to be there for Trip when Lizzie died? Trip couldn't remember, everything from that period was jumbled, but he remembered Malcolm was the one who made sure he went to see where Lizzie died, who came along so that Trip wouldn't be alone.

Even when Trip didn't want to let anyone in, Malcolm had tried. The Captain hadn't. He'd distantly asked after Trip, questioning whether he was all right, but Trip had been able to tell that the only answer the Captain wanted to hear was "yes".

It wasn't just the events of the previous year; their friendship had been gradually falling apart since they came onboard Enterprise.

Now Trip had to decide just what to do about it. Did he want to let this friendship fall by the way, or did he want to fight for it?

* * *

A small ball thumped against the wall, high above Porthos' head. He sat, tail wagging occasionally against the floor, watching the ball as it hit the wall and bounced back towards his Master. 

&Break&

_Bang_.

He hit Mike in the head with the ball.

_Bang_.

He hit him in the stomach.

_Bang_.

He hit Admiral Forrest for bringing Mike with him.

_Bang_.

He hit Porthos in the head.

"Porthos!"

Jon rushed over to the beagle who was looking at him reproachfully. He rubbed Porthos around the neck.

"I'm sorry, boy. I'm just...I don't know." He sat down on the floor, pulling Porthos on to his lap.

"I know that some of what Mike said is true, but how much? I know I was obsessed over the last year but that was the only way I could cope. Before that, I had to make this mission work, proving the Vulcans wrong. Making my father's dream come true, if it actually was his dream. What is there now?"

Jon sighed and addressed the beagle. "And I haven't been a very good cabin mate to you, have I?" Porthos licked his hand, and Jon smiled. "You're still not getting any cheese."


	7. Chapter 7

T'Pol did not expect to see Commander Tucker's father standing alone in the corridor. She nodded in greeting as she passed him, assuming that the human would not want to talk to her.

"Sub-Commander."

Apparently her assumption was erroneous. She stopped and turned to him. "Yes, Mr. Tucker?"

Mr. Tucker paused and took a deep breath, not unlike how the Commander would before he said something that he thought would offend. After a few seconds he seemed sufficiently prepared to continue.

"I want you to stay away from my son." Mr. Tucker stopped again; T'Pol speculated that he thought that he had either said enough or was awaiting a reply from her. She assumed the latter and formulated a reply.

"The Commander and I are both senior officers on this ship, Mr. Tucker; at times we have to work in close proximity. It would be highly impractical for me to, as you say, 'stay away from Commander Tucker'. Such an act would reduce the efficiency of the ship."

The man's face was set in hard lines, reducing any resemblance he had to his son. "That is not what I meant, and you know it! I've seen the way he looks at you; I'm no fool: I know that expression. He thinks he's in love with you."

"My relationship with Commander Tucker is none of your concern."

He moved closer as if seeking to intimidate her. "The hell it's not! You stay away from him, orâ€”"

"What the hell is going on?"

* * *

Trip had finished repairing the junction earlier than he had expected, giving him some time to eat alone before he met his father in the mess hall. Trip had resolved that he would eat as soon as the repairs were done.

As Trip rounded a corner he saw T'Pol and his father ahead. It was immediately apparent that they were having a heated conversation: Trip recognised the anger betrayed by his father's stance even as he noted the slight tension in T'Pol's.

"My relationship with Commander Tucker is none of your concern," T'Pol said in a calm voice.

He saw his father move forward threateningly before yelling, "The hell it's not! You stay away from him, or-"

"What the hell is going on?" Trip didn't even try to repress his anger as he approached the pair.

T'Pol shifted slightly, but did not speak.

His father broke the silence, punctuating his words with a fierce glare. "You don't want to get involved with her; what the hell can she offer you? She doesn't have emotions, she is cold and you will regret it for the rest of your life. You do not want to be trapped in a loveless marriage by a manipulative bitch, believe me!"

Trip felt his anger seething with each word, but the last sentence was like another slap to the face. He found himself laughing, a laugh that was more like a sob. "What like mother trapped you, falling pregnant with me? It would have been a step up for her, marrying you, after all her family had no money and yours had too much. If she was so cold and you were so miserable, how the hell did I end up with a brother and sister? Were you drunk? Was that the only way you could face her?" Trip laughed bitterly.

His father had gone pale. "Charles... Iâ€”"

"Don't," Trip cut him off. "I don't want to hear anything else that you have to say. You never wanted me, you've made that quite clear since I was a kid. What was today, a game for you? 'Let's all see exactly how gullible Trip is, how much of your affection he will fall for?' I will make it clear to you, Father, just how much I need you: I never want to see you or hear from you again."

Trip turned his back on his father's stunned face and nodded at T'Pol, striving without success to make his voice calm. "I apologise for my father's behaviour, T'Pol." He spun away from them and ran blindly down the corridor, giving way to tears at last.

His father's words echoed in Trip's mind. He hadn't said anything that Trip hadn't already suspected, but for him to actually say the words hurt more than Trip had ever thought it would. He'd tried for so much of his life to understand why his parents never wanted to have anything to do with him, to finally find out that neither of them actually wanted him was devastating. Even though he'd tried to stop caring about what they thought of him a long time ago.

Trip had palmed open the door and stepped inside before he realised that he was back at his quarters. The door closed behind him and in the quiet of his room he noticed how ragged his breathing was. His knees became weak, and he leant against the wall.

Now that he was alone, Trip didn't know which emotion to give into first: anger or hurt. He made his way into the bathroom to look at the haggard man in the mirror. His eyes were glittering with unshed tears and there was a large red mark on one cheek. Trip brought his hand up to his face, touching the spot; it was tender. The mark must have gradually darkened over the day as no one had commented on it, or else they had been too wrapped up in their own affairs to notice it.

He stood there, staring at himself for awhile, cataloguing the features of the man in front of him. It was his eyes, he decided. They looked so exhausted, so tired of fighting.

"Maybe it would have been better if they'd just let me die."

The words sounded flat to him, there was no echo, no ominous music accompanied the pronouncement. Simply words that died on their own.

Trip didn't feel better for saying them out loud; it wasn't the first time that he'd thought about it and he wasn't sure when he was referring to either. Possibly the first time he'd tried to kill himself, if the incident on Shuttlepod One could be classed as the second, or the anorexia, the several times that Archer had saved his life, or Sim.

Sometimes fighting could be too hard. But Trip had a tough personality that had pushed and prodded him through most things and when he felt that he couldn't do it anymore he had people who cared enough to do the pushing and prodding for him. He had beaten anorexia and the negative voice in his head and he wouldn't let anything else tear him down.

It all came back to his parents. Thinking about them brought back the memory of what his father had said and the rising anger. He looked at the man in the mirror and saw the image of an older man with grey in his hair and brown eyes. The man's face shattered in a web away from a singular point around Trip's fist; his own reflection was near impossible to see in the cracked glass. His fist was stinging, he automatically cradled it in his other hand. Tears had started trickling down his cheeks; Trip sank down to the hard deck and pulled his knees towards him as he leant against the wall, crying.

* * *

Charles felt dazed. Everything had happened so fast that he wondered that he did not have whiplash. Words that he'd never consciously formed before had poured out of him, betraying emotions that he'd never fully realised he felt.

It was over.

His son would never forgive him now, and Charles wasn't sure he could forgive himself. He'd lost two of his children without getting to know either.

Charles looked at the blank walls around him, devoid of decoration and warmth, anonymous in their monotony. The corridor snaked its way past him in both directions, nothing to distinguish either end. If he tried to go back or forward, things would be the same. But he couldn't stay where he was either.

Reaching a decision, he walked purposefully down the corridor, knowing that either direction would take him where he wanted to go: the only place where he might still make a difference.

* * *

After the confrontation with Mr Tucker and the Commander, T'Pol had retreated to the sanctity of her quarters. Their argument had unsettled her, and though she had tried to meditate for several minutes in an attempt to quieten the emotions roiling inside her, the emotions would not cooperate. Her concern for Commander Tucker overrode her efforts.

He had seemed very distressed, more so than she had ever seen him. Commander Tucker had come to her before when he was distressed, but the fact that she was involved in this incident may have made him wary of that.

T'Pol stood up in a fluid movement and moved towards the door. Her body had decided her destination before her mind had time to reach the same conclusion.

* * *

Doctor Phlox sighed quietly.

He was sitting in front of a computer terminal in sickbay studying Commander Tucker's medical record. The Commander's behaviour at lunch had tripped an alarm in the Doctor's head. He looked like he'd lost weight, had avoided eating and on closer inspection the Commander looked like he was going to keel over like a Lirellian Lemming.

The red patch on the Commander's cheek had also concerned Phlox. While only a slight discolouration then, Phlox felt sure that by evening it would be prominent. Exactly how Commander Tucker had been injured worried him.

Phlox resolved to talk to the human in the morning before things had a chance to become more serious. The Commander's anorexia had been under control for almost two decades, but it would not necessarily stay that way.

The door from the corridor slid open and Phlox looked up to see the older Mr Tucker walk through. Phlox pressed a button to blank the screen before standing up. He noticed that the human appeared agitated and upset: his face was flushed and his hands trembled.

"Mr Tucker, what can I do for you?" Phlox gestured him to a seat as he sat again in his own.

The human sat silently for a few seconds with his eyes closed. His breathing gradually slowed down to slightly above normal and he looked again at Phlox.

"I..." Mr Tucker cleared his throat. "I want you to look after my son, to make sure that he doesn't hurt himself in any way."

Phlox could understand Mr Tucker's concern for his son, but he was puzzled by Mr Tucker requesting his aid. "I am the crew's physician, Mr Tucker. It is part of my job to keep the crew, including your son, healthy."

"You haven't been doing a very good job then," Mr Tucker said bitterly. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was unfair of me. You're the only one here who knows about his problems; I need to know that someone is watching out for him."

Phlox finally understood. "Because you won't be able to anymore."

"I don't think he'll ever want to see me again after today." The sadness and self-anger in the man's voice touched a chord within the doctor. "And I don't blame him."

Mr Tucker shook his head once more. "I was so stupid! I couldn't fix my relationship with my son in a day but I tried anyway. He'd opened up to me, the first time he's ever really done that, and I ruined it." He paused, lost in thought. "I need to know that somebody's going to look after him, to make sure that he doesn't get sick again."

Hearing the human's words, Phlox was reminded of his own strained relationships with his two youngest sons. "As long as your son is under my medical care, Mr Tucker, I will do my best to look after him." Phlox looked down at the monitor that had shown him the Commander's medical record. "You have another son I believe, James isn't it?"

The man nodded.

"Have you gotten back in contact with him?"

"No, not yet. Charles...I failed Charles the most. When he was two, he went through this stage where he would scream and cry if he was left with anyone else other than me. It went on for months, and he wouldn't stop crying from when I left him, he'd cry and cry until he threw up. And then he'd continue crying." He cleared his throat. "By the time that period was over, I just wanted to get away, from both him and my wife. But I never really came back." He sighed.

"When he was fourteen, I returned from a business trip and I couldn't believe it: he was like a skeleton. He was hospitalised straight away but it didn't make much of a difference, and when they let him out he tried to kill himself. Is that in your records?" Mr Tucker said bitterly.

Phlox was surprised and alarmed by this statement. "No, it isn't."

Mr Tucker smiled sadly. "I guess that he thought that was the one thing that might keep him out of Starfleet. He went to a clinic for eating disorders for almost a year. I stayed at home until he got out of the clinic and then I left again. So you see, James and Lizzie at least had a father that they could know and remember, Charles never did."

Phlox had been thinking about Sim while the human was speaking. Sim had never shown the same psychological problems and had never spoken of such a relationship with his parents. The Doctor felt the pang of regret and sadness that thinking of Sim always brought. "Mr Tucker, I understand why you approached the Commander first, but I think that might have been a mistake."

The human glanced at Phlox, a flash of pain appearing in his eyes, before studying his hands.

"You are trying to prove to him that you care, that you are going to be a parent to him now. If you prove that with your other son and his family first, Commander Tucker might believe you."

Mr Tucker looked up and nodded. "You're probably right. I'm going to see James when I go home."

* * *

T'Pol stood outside Commander Tucker's quarters hesitantly. Logic dictated that he was in there, but she wasn't certain he would want to see her. Given how exhausted he had appeared Commander Tucker might have fallen asleep and she did not want to wake him if that was the case.

She made her decision and entered her override code. The door opened and T'Pol stepped quietly inside.

Commander Tucker was not in the sleeping area of the quarters. T'Pol moved towards the open bathroom door and noticed that the mirror was shattered, although there was no glass on the floor. T'Pol looked further into the room and spotted him sitting against the wall with his eyes closed.

The Commander's eyelids were slightly red and swollen and there were dried tear tracks down his cheeks. His breathing was quiet and even, reassuring her that he was sleeping. Commander Tucker appeared unharmed; the knuckles of his right hand were reddened as if from an impact but the skin was unbroken.

T'Pol realised that Commander Tucker would have sore muscles from sleeping in such an awkward position, however, she was loathe to wake him. She walked back to his bed, untucked the blanket and carried it back to the bathroom.

As T'Pol placed the blanket over the Commander he stirred slightly. She knelt beside him until he settled back into a deeper sleep, before quietly leaving his quarters.


	8. Chapter 8

"Mike."

Jon walked over to his friend. Mike was facing the window, looking out at the stars.

"I didn't want you to leave without talking to you again," Jon continued. "You're just about the closest thing I've got to family."

Mike faced him and smiled slightly. "You're wrong. Your family is here."

"Trip."

"And the rest of the crew. I didn't come here to start a fight, Jon, heaven knows I've had enough of them with your father. I came to see how you were doing and I think you'll be just fine."

Jon smiled at his words, before asking the question he'd forgotten earlier. "I hadn't asked you, what are things like on Earth?"

A pensive expression settled on Mike's face. "We've changed, Jon, all of us. I haven't yet figured out whether it's for the better or the worse. There was so much anger and fear, and it's still there. It may only disappear once this generation is dead and buried, the memories fading with time. Too many people still want to remember and hate." He sighed and leant back against the bulkhead.

"When Enterprise started out, the media celebrated our advancement into space. Everyone could feel like they were a part of it. Now, Earth wants to isolate us from the rest of the galaxy."

Jon was disturbed, but not surprised by Mike's comments. A society would become more insular if attacked on the scale Earth was. "With the threat over, maybe things will change again," he offered, not really believing his own words.

Mike grinned. "And Enterprise can get back to exploring again."

Exploring. It would be good to explore some exotic planet, Trip taking a picture of the crew, Malcolm relaxing as much as could be expected, T'Pol investigating the wildlife and keeping everyone on track, some laughter and lightness in the air.

"I can't wait," he said simply, clapping Mike on the shoulder. "We'd better head to the shuttle bay, we wouldn't want to keep Admiral Forrest waiting."

They moved towards the door and Mike smiled. "It wouldn't bother me..."

* * *

"It's a beautiful ship, Malcolm."

Malcolm and his parents were walking to the shuttle bay. Malcolm tried not to appear too shocked by his father's almost reverential comment. Anyone else would see it just as a compliment to the ship, but Malcolm knew better. It was as close as his father could come to saying that he approved of Malcolm and his life.

There was pride and love in the comment. He and his parents weren't close, but that didn't mean that they weren't nice people. Yes, his father had reacted badly to him joining Starfleet, but he had gotten over that, he'd just never told Malcolm that he had. Malcolm knew that he was very much like his father; he also had trouble communicating his feelings and connecting with people. Trip had been the first person to really succeed in getting Malcolm to open up. And when you got two people in the same room who hated talking about or exposing their feelings, things were bound to be tense.

He allowed himself a small smile when he responded to his father's words. "Thank you."

His mother reached for his hand, holding it and squeezing his fingers for a few seconds before letting go. Malcolm finally realised that his parents didn't need to tell him in words how they felt, they had always done it through their actions; he'd just been too blind to see it when he was younger. Even after his fight with them, his parents had come to all his important occasions whenever possible, they had always been a silent support. He'd resented their coming, but now he found that he didn't. It was amazing how a few simple gestures could completely change your outlook on life.

They reached the shuttle bay and Malcolm was vaguely amused to find that they were the first ones there. They stood silently waiting for the others to arrive, but Malcolm did not find the silence stiff or cold. The door opened and Malcolm saw Trip's father walk through, but without Trip. He was slightly puzzled and concerned by it, as he hadn't seen Trip since he'd walked out on lunch. Mr Tucker walked slowly, and Malcolm knew that something had gone wrong by the look on his face.

Hoshi and her parents, and Admiral Forrest soon arrived, followed lastly by the Captain and his friend who were talking animatedly. The Captain looked around when he arrived and Malcolm saw the look of puzzlement and slight annoyance on his face when he realised that Trip wasn't there. Mr Tucker seemed to pick up on the Captain's expression as well, as he commented that something had come up.

Admiral Forrest shook hands with all the Enterprise officers before stepping into the shuttlepod and Hoshi hugged her parents before they also got on board. Malcolm shook hands formally with his father and kissed his mother on the cheek, expecting them to then move away. Before they did, his mother grabbed his hand again and squeezed it. Mike, the Captain's friend, hugged the Captain, whispered something to him and then climbed on board the shuttlepod. The three Enterprise officers retreated back to the observation area and watched the ship leave. Malcolm felt relief at its departure, whether at the fact that he finally understood his parents or for some other reason he didn't know. The Captain and Hoshi both looked downcast and left the room quickly, the Captain leaving first.

Malcolm stood there for a while longer, until he felt that he could leave. He hadn't known what was holding him there, but something was. The door opened and he stepped out into the corridor and headed to his quarters. He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Trip floated back up through the layers of his mind. His front was warm but his butt and back were cold. He opened his gritty eyes and looked at his shower. His mind had trouble figuring out exactly why he would be looking at his shower. He looked down at his arms and couldn't see them, there was a blanket covering him. It took a minute more of fuzzy thinking before he finally came to the conclusion that he was sitting on his bathroom floor. He'd been so tired after he'd finally finished crying that he must have fallen asleep, but he didn't remember grabbing the blanket. That's not to say he didn't grab it, anything was possible, especially when he was that tired.

He pushed the blanket off and stood up slowly. His legs protested slightly at being vertical, the cold had seeped into them, giving them the tendency to want to cramp. He staggered over to the basin and looked at his multiple reflections in the mirror. He'd forgotten about that. He'd have to put in a requisition to get it repaired and come up with a creative excuse that didn't result in being sent to an anger management therapist. Well, his multiple reflections looked awful, so his single one must look pretty bad. He splashed some water on his face and rubbed it dry, wincing slightly at the tenderness of the skin. He almost yelped when he rubbed across his cheek, leading him to study the spot in the mirror. There was no way that anybody could miss the angry red mark now. Although there was at least some purple to contrast with the red.

He hadn't had enough sleep, he still felt slightly woozy, although that could also be from not eating and working his ass off in engineering. The problem was that after that sort of anger and grief there was no way in hell that he would be able to eat, or able to easily go back to sleep. He crossed unsteadily to his cupboard and pulled a pair of track suit bottoms and a plain shirt out, slipping off his uniform before changing into the comfortable clothes. He would have to see Phlox in the morning to get himself back on track, but until then he'd do his best to forget about everything that had happened. The fact that the way he was going to do that would make his doctor kill him was irrelevant.

* * *

"You wanna get drunk?" Trip said as he walked into Malcolm's room unannounced, carrying a bottle of bourbon. Malcolm wouldn't have been sure of his identity if he hadn't spoken, as the lights were dim.

Malcolm thinned his lips and eyed him. "Have you ever heard of knocking Commander?" he said, placing emphasis on the rank. "And I believe that your override code is only for emergencies. Now if you don't mind, I wasn't particularly in the mood for company right now."

Trip sprawled down on the bed beside Malcolm. "Well, _Lieutenant_ , I guess I could make it an order. Lieutenant Reed, I order you to get drunk with me. To refuse that order would be insubordination and downright irritating. Besides, we don't want this bottle to feel lonely, do we?"

Malcolm smirked and rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure of the validity of that order, _Sir_ , but when you put it that way."

Trip smiled grimly, broke the seal on the bottle, opened it and took a long swig. He handed the bottle to him as Malcolm asked, "So where'd you get the bottle?"

Trip waited for him to take a mouthful before replying, "The Captain's quarters."

Malcolm choked, swallowed and sputtered before wiping his watering eyes. Trip grabbed the bottle and took another swig, wiped his mouth and sighed.

"You stole a bottle of booze out of the Captain's quarters?" Malcolm asked incredulously.

"Malcolm, I'm horrified that you think that I would do such a thing. I just borrowed it and won't be returning it."

"One of these days, Trip, you're going to get yourself in over your head," Malcolm said as he took back the bottle.

"One of these days, one of these days, POW, right in the kisser," Trip slurred in a high voice with a punch to the air.

"What?"

"What?" Trip turned to him with a confused look on his face.

"Mr Tucker, I think you're already partially drunk, and we're not even a quarter of the way through. When did you last sleep or eat? And have you been in a fight?" Malcolm suddenly noticed the bruise on Trip's face and turned it towards him to inspect it. Trip angrily brushed his hand away.

"I've had enough of parents for one day, Malcolm. So stop acting like my father and give me that damn bottle!"

Malcolm looked him fully in the face and said firmly, "No. Not until you tell me what happened."

Trip gritted his teeth in frustration and then spat, "He hit me, okay, Malcolm? Now give me the bottle." He stuck out his hand until Malcolm reluctantly handed it over.

"To parents. Unlike our friends, we're stuck with them," Trip toasted bitterly, before drinking.

"To parents," Malcolm agreed, "You can't live with them, you wouldn't be alive without them."

"That's very..." Trip paused, searching for the word.

"Profound?" Malcolm suggested.

"I was thinking deep, but I guess profound will do. Deep and profound."

Fifteen minutes later, three quarters of the bottle was gone and both men were slouched against the wall.

"Where was your mother?" Malcolm suddenly asked with surprising clarity. When no reply was forthcoming, Malcolm nudged Trip who looked blearily at him.

"You say somethin', Mal?" he slurred.

"I asked, where was your mother," Malcolm said, enunciating each word slowly.

It took a few seconds for the question to sink into Trip's alcohol soaked brain. "Oh, she has this thing call'd hippochondra."

"Sounds bad," Malcolm replied, with a slight upturn of his lips.

"She thinks it is."

"My father would be horri...horrified to see this," Malcolm said. He got no response from Trip who was taking another drink. "I'm fraternising with a senior officer."

"The way you say that sounds dirty," Trip muttered.

Trip had been dozing off again for several minutes when the door buzzer activated. "Come in!" he shouted and then realised that he'd done it way too loudly as his head spun.

"Trip, we don't wan' anybody else here. We've only got quarter of a bottle left," Malcolm said matter-of-factly.

The door opened and Captain Archer walked in the room. He half frowned, half smiled when he saw the state of the two officers.

"Hi Cap'n!" Trip said way too happily for Malcolm's tastes. "Wanna drink?"

Malcolm then remembered where the bottle that was in his hand came from. The look of absolute doom that crossed his face made Archer laugh.

&!&

"It's all right, Malcolm," Jon said with a smile. "Trip has borrowed bottles before."

"Tha's righ'," Trip drunkenly agreed. "I lef' him an IUO note."

Jon shook his head as he looked at the bedraggled men before him. Trip looked like he hadn't slept in a week and had been drinking just as long, in contrast to Malcolm who, somehow, even drunk, still appeared like he could pass inspection on a parade ground.

"Okay, Trip," Jon said, manoeuvring his arm behind Trip's back, "time to go to bed. Malcolm, I'll take him back to my quarters, you really don't want him here when he gets this drunk. It won't be a pleasant night."

"Cap'n, are you positioning me? 'Cause I don' think Malcolm's father will approve."

When Malcolm figured out what Trip meant he almost choked on his shocked laughter.

"No, Trip," Jon replied with a straight face, "I'm not propositioning you, you're not my type. You can't be left alone to sleep when you're like this, and at least in my quarters I can get some work done."

He managed to lever Trip up into a standing position, who promptly did his impersonation of a jellyfish.

"Are you going to be okay, Malcolm?"

Malcolm nodded in reply to the spoken and the implied question.

"C'mon, Trip," Jon said, shifting his stance to compensate for the added weight. "We're not going to make it if you don't help a bit."

When they made it to the lift, Jon was grateful that turbolifts started and stopped without making a person's stomach feel like it was moving too. Otherwise it could have been messy. He saw the slight tinge of green warning him that Trip had reached that stage.

"Just hold on, Trip."

He also noticed the bruise on Trip's cheek and decided to ask about it when they got to his quarters. He knew from past experience that he could get Trip to talk about things he didn't want to when drunk. Jon sighed in relief as he dumped Trip onto the side of his bed after telling Porthos to stay. They'd managed to make it with no untoward incidences or things formerly a part of Trip being left behind.

Looking at the greenness of Trip's face, he decided that the bed wasn't such a good place for him to be, and quickly but carefully guided him into the bathroom to begin his worship of the great white plastic god.

After he had gotten to the phase of dry retching, which Jon realised had occurred way too quickly, Jon approached the subject. "Trip, who hit you?"

Trip didn't look up from where he rested his sweaty head by the toilet as he replied quietly, "My father. But I don' blame him for doin' it. I'd hit me too."

"Trip, nobody has a right to hit you. Has he done it before?"

Trip snorted. "No."

Jon finally asked the question that had been plaguing him most of the day. "Why did you lie to me about your parents?"

Trip lifted his head up and, despite his drunkenness, said with conviction, "I didn'. They're no' my real paren's. Christina and Mark are. They rais'd me an' James an' Lizzie. They were our housekeeper and groundsman. I call them mom an' dad. Sad, huh?"

Just after finishing the sentence, he leaned forward and went through another bout of dry heaving. Jon rubbed his back until he finished and then commed Doctor Phlox. "Doc, I'd appreciate it if you could come to my quarters. Trip was hit in the face today and at the moment he's in no condition to make it to sickbay. Could you check him out and make sure he's okay before he passes out?"

"Certainly, Captain. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Jon filled a glass with water and handed it to Trip. Noticing how shaky he was, Jon supported Trip's hands on the glass, allowing him to swallow some without spilling it down the front of him, before wiping Trip's face with a wet cloth.

"Thanks, Jon," Trip murmured.

When Phlox arrived, Trip had managed to make it back to the bed on shaky legs. Phlox took one look at him and tutted. "Drinking on an empty stomach were we, Commander?"

"Doctor, you can lecture him tomorrowâ€”when he's feeling even worse," Jon said. Trip shot him a dirty look while Phlox examined his face.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that there's nothing broken and no concussion. See me in the morning for something for the hangover and I'll look at the bruise again," Phlox said as he injected something into Trip's arm.

Trip's eyes had already shut and Phlox gently lowered him onto his side on the bed. He looked up at Jon and said, "Captain, can we have a word outside?"

Jon looked back at Trip to reassure himself before following Phlox out the door. Phlox waited for the door to close before speaking. "Do you know who hit him?"

"His father."

"Ahh. Probably why he did not come to me and instead sought solace in a bottle," Phlox ruminated.

"You make him sound like an alcoholic. I've known him for ten years, Doctor. He's not," Jon said with some heat.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I did not mean to suggest that. But, as I'm sure you also noticed, he's exhausted and has barely eaten anything in the last two days, which is why the alcohol hit him so hard. Do you know how much he drank?" the Denobulan asked.

"He was drinking with Malcolm, so I'm not certain. Between them they'd drunk about three quarters of a bottle of bourbon."

Phlox smiled. "Ahh, another patient. I've given Commander Tucker a dose of vitamins that his body badly needs due to his neglect of it. We'll need to watch him, Captain. He pushes his body too hard sometimes, and some day he may not be able to recover from it."

Jon was left with a lot to think about when he went back inside and covered the unconscious Trip with a blanket. He smoothed Trip's sweat darkened hair away from his forehead.

"You have to take better care of yourself, Trip," he told the sleeping man. "We can't risk losing you."

He settled down with a pad into a chair facing the bed and started writing his personal log.


	9. Chapter 9

"Please, God, tell me I'm dead."

Jon smiled at the groan that came from the pathetic figure on his bed. Trip groaned again and burrowed his head further into the pillow.

"I'm glad to finally see you awake, Trip," Jon said at a normal volume.

Trip winced. "Too loud. Oh, my head, it's going to explode." He supported his head with his hand.

"Phlox left this earlier, his guaranteed hangover cure." Jon grabbed the hypospray from his desk and walked over to Trip. He pressed it against Trip's neck and activated it. Trip's eyes were clenched tightly shut. "It should start working in a few minutes," Jon said comfortingly, resting his hand lightly on Trip's shoulder.

He sat on the bed and waited. Trip's tense body gradually relaxed and his eyes opened. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Trip turned slowly and pulled himself up in the bed to lean against the wall.

Jon started laughing.

"What?" Trip said grumpily.

"Your hair, nice look."

Trip glared at him while trying to fix the problem. Jon chuckled again. "Trip, stop. You're making it worse."

"Well if I had a mirrorâ€¦"

Jon abruptly stopped laughing, remembering his fright at seeing the cracked mirror in Trip's quarters. "I'm not sure whether I could trust you with another mirror, you've already got seven years bad luck."

Trip looked uncomfortable and avoided Jon's gaze. "You saw that, huh?"

"Yep."

Trip shifted on the bed. "I was angry," he admitted, "and the mirror was a convenient target."

"Because you were angry with yourself?"

"Partially," Trip agreed. "Could I get some water, Captain?"

Jon reached for the glass on his desk and handed it to Trip. He drank slowly and briefly pressed the empty glass against his forehead.

"Trip, do you remember what you told me last night?"

Trip's eyes became watery. "Do you mean me pouring my guts out to you about my family, or asking whether you were propositioning me?" He giggled, slightly hysterically.

"Don't try and change the subject, Trip, we need to talk about this. Why hadn't you told me before?" Jon tried to keep the hurt that he felt out of his voice.

"I don't have to tell you everything, Jon. There are things I don't want to share with anyone. I don't want pity, or people to think, 'poor little rich kid, Mommy and Daddy didn't love him'."

Jon softly said, "You also didn't want to risk anybody telling you that it was your fault that they didn't care about you."

Trip thought for a few seconds. "You might be right. I don't know, I just accepted what Mother was like, it didn't really hurt me that much." He took a deep breath. "But Father was never there, and that did hurt. So, I started acting out."

"You wanted his attention," Jon surmised.

"Yeah. I got myself kicked out of the private school he was sending me to-"

Jon was curious. "How?"

"By being obnoxious, hyperactive and getting into fights. There was some talk that I had ADHD, but Christina managed to convince my parents not to put me on meds. Then I changed my accent." Trip smiled slightly.

"You did what?" Jon had trouble believing what Trip said.

"My accent was very much like my father's, but it had started to evolve a bit because I was living in Florida and Christina was Southern. My grandfather didn't like that, so I helped it along, even exaggerated it slightly." Jon could picture Trip doing that.

"And James and Lizzie picked the accent up off me. I don't even know whether Father really noticed, but Grandfather certainly did." Trip grinned.

Jon shook his head admiringly. "You are a brat."

Trip turned serious again. "I started to think of Christina as my mom and Mark as my dad when I was around five or six. I never really used it much out loud."

A memory finally clicked for Jon. "It was Christina who said that you should be an architect and Mark who said you should be an engineer."

Trip looked slightly puzzled. "Yeah, but I don't think that I've ever told you that." He paused. "Sim?"

Jon nodded. "Trip." He hesitated. "You haven't actually said what your parents were really like. I mean, how they acted towards you."

Trip rubbed his eyes. "Mother never had anything to do with any of us. She liked to be the center of attention, there was always something wrong with her. Basically she's a hypochondriac. Father wasâ€¦" He sighed.

"Father was just never there. He was always away on business, and if he was ever home it was only for a few days. Until I was fourteen." Trip's voice was bitter. "He was home for a year then, not that I got to see him."

"Why not?"

"Because I was in Canada." Trip spoke quietly and looked down at his hands.

"Trip, look at me. Look at me." Trip finally met Jon's eyes, his expression sad. "Why were you in Canada?"

When he finally spoke, Trip's voice was flat. "Overall, I was an anxious child. I used to have all these thoughts that if I didn't do something or watch out for them, something would happen to my family. As the years passed, the thoughts became more authoritative."

He was staring past Jon's shoulder as he spoke, and Jon found it disturbing.

"If I didn't check all the windows three times a night, someone might break in. The thoughts, the voice, was starting to control what I did." Jon felt a chill run down his spine. His friend hadn't been mentally ill, Jon would have known it.

"When I was thirteen, Christina and Mark just suddenly weren't there. The voice told me that it was my fault, that I hadn't been good enough, done what it said. It told me that if I ate my piece of pecan pie that night that James and Lizzie would go too." Trip had started rocking gently back and forth.

"It escalated from there; if I didn't get down to a certain weight, something would happen. And even when I was losing all the weight, all that I could see in the mirror was a fat, ugly kid who nobody should love. That nobody had loved, that was why my parents wanted nothing to do with me, why Christina and Mark left."

Jon struggled with what Trip said, most of it sounded so unlike the Trip that Jon knew. "You were anorexic?"

Trip finally looked steadily at Jon when he replied, "I am anorexic, I'm not cured." He let Jon think about it for a few seconds before continuing. "The school had noticed that I'd lost weight, they spoke to my mother but she didn't do anything about it. Our new housekeeper just acted like I was an attention seeking kid who'd stopped eating to cause trouble. It went on for quite awhile, until my father came home when I was fourteen." Trip stopped and really looked at Jon.

"I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" he asked with resignation.

Jon considered his reply. He put a hand on Trip's knee, giving it a slight squeeze. "A little. Nobody would suspect this if they knew you now, Trip. But I want to hear this, it's a part of you and you are my friend."

"Thank you, Jon," Trip said quietly. He gathered his thoughts before continuing. "It seemed like the minute my father got home I was in the hospital. They put me on a feeding tube, and I fought that. I'd throw tantrums when they tried to put anything in it. The voice could be so loud that I'd hit my head repeatedly against the wall to try and get it to stop." He cleared his throat, talking about it was hard.

Jon reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly; his heart ached for what Trip had gone through.

"They got me back to what they considered to be a safe weight, and then they turfed me out. The hospital system isn't designed to cope with the long-term care a lot of anorexics need. At least now some cases can be controlled with medication; they didn't have that a couple of hundred years ago. People died."

Jon interrupted, "Yours couldn't?"

Trip shook his head. "I'm one of an unfortunate group for which the meds make things worse. I went home after the hospital stay, and we all tried to act like things were normal, but they weren't. I wasn't coping at all, I was virtually obsessive compulsive at that point. It just got too much."

Jon felt a chill run down his spine at Trip's soft words.

Trip looked down at his hands. "So, I went into my parent's bathroom and took a bottle of my Mother's sleeping pills. She hated having a hypospray, so she still used tablets. I counted them out one by one as I swallowed them. Luckily James found me, although I didn't think I was that lucky at the time."

"Trip," Jon forced the word out, his throat partially closed with emotion. He cleared it, and continued hoarsely, "That was why your father reacted the way he did at lunch."

Trip nodded. "After that, he sent me to a clinic in Canada that specialises in eating disorders." He paused, before continuing uncomfortably, "It was hard, and it wasn't until Christina came and saw me that I started to really fight it. It was a year before I was really well enough to go home. I got home, and Father left two weeks later."

"I'm sorry." The words seemed inadequate to Jon, but he didn't know what else to say. Trip flashed him a slightly bitter smile.

"If I focus on how much love Christina and Mark gave us over the years it doesn't hurt as much. Don't think that we weren't loved or fussed over, we were." Trip grinned. "And you don't have to worry about me, either. My anorexia is under control. I'll be fine."

"You haven't eaten over the last couple of days," Jon began.

"It's okay. I'll be seeing Phlox today, and he'll put me on an enforced diet, and go through our normal bimonthly psychology routine and weigh in a little early."

"Oh, I just remembered," Jon said. "He told me to make sure you had breakfast after you woke up. Then he wanted you to see him. Why don't you grab a shower while I get Chef to send us something?"

"Thanks, Captain, but I don't have any clean clothes."

Jon pointed to a pile of clothes and a towel on the floor. Trip nodded and dragged himself out of the bed, before grabbing the clothes and heading into the bathroom.

* * *

"Lieutenant!"

Malcolm winced at Travis' loud and cheery voice. He took another sip of his tea as Travis and Hoshi sat down at his table.

"Hard night, Lieutenant?" Hoshi said with a twinkle in her eye. "You know, I heard that Commander Tucker is back at work this morning." Hoshi looked down at her food. "Pretty impressive as he was apparently seen staggering away from your quarters last night with the Captain holding him up."

Malcolm couldn't help feeling a pang of annoyance. Trip was more drunk than he had been, and he was back at work. He tried to tune out Hoshi and Travis' words, his head really did hurt.

"Lieutenant!"

"Hmm, what?" He looked at Travis and Hoshi, before registering that the voice had belonged to Phlox.

"I said, Lieutenant, that I would like you to report to sickbay, if you would please."

He put the mug of tea down. "I'm coming, Doctor."

Hoshi gave him a sympathetic glance as he stood up to follow Phlox out of the room.

"Feel better, Lieutenant!" Travis called cheerily as he walked away.

Malcolm contented himself with imagining what weapon he would use to do Travis in.

* * *

"So, I said, in your dreams, and he left." Crewman King stopped moving, and Crewman Costello bumped into her feet. "Can you hear that?"

"No. You hearing ghosts now?"

King moved forward again and rounded the bend in the maintenance tunnel, before quickly back peddling.

"What?"

"Commander Tucker's up there," King whispered.

"So?"

"He's asleep, and Lieutenant Hess will kill us if she knew we woke him up."

"Of all the odd places to fall asleep. Are you sure that there's nothing wrong with him? He could have been hurt," Costello questioned quietly.

"He's drooling."

Costello giggled. "Definitely asleep then, what I'd give for a camera right now. We better let Hess know that he's okay though." She turned around in the tunnel, thankful that she was skinny enough to do so, and headed back the way they had come.

"How long do you think it's been since he really slept?"

"Too long."

"Anyway," King continued, "so the next week, he called me again."

Costello groaned. "And you said yes, didn't you."


End file.
